BellyUp Tavern
by THE Xenomorph
Summary: Crazy schemes, ghosts, demons and angels. They all work at the Belly Up Tavern.


**Belly-Up Tavern**

**By Xenomorph666**

**Disclaimer: I own the Staff of the Tavern, and the Scions that's it. **

**Everything else is © Their respectable owners**

**Summary: Ever wonder where all those movie villains go after they meet their match? Some die, some live one as normal individuals and others get stuck with the tab. These are the everyday occurrences of the Belly-Up Tavern and its weird assortment of multi-dimensional customers.**

_**Introductions and all that jackassery**_

A devastated looking man in his thirties walks in to the downstairs tavern on the strange plane of existence that he has found himself in. He was dressed in an all black suit with a large letter "S" in whit on it, his hair or what was left of it was a fiery red. A tattered cape also adorned his back as well as a sullen look.

"Where am I?" He asked, wondering how he had arrived. The man was a villain by the name of Syndrome, he had just been defeated by The Incredibles and now found himself in a strange world.

"Eh?" A green robe with bright cyan eyes looked up from the back of the bar. "You're in purgatory or as I like to call it, 'Hell for the losers'. So what can I do ya for?"

"Purgatory? I'm DEAD!" Syndrome screamed as he paled.

"Well sort of. You're from what I like to call 'family' universes. And in your universe, you happen to just disappear as opposed to dying. But pretty much, yeah you're dead; I mean you don't survive getting sucked into a jet engine… "The ghost quitted himself as a red shirted lunatic with a jet engine on his head came waltzing in. "PERFECTION!"

"What?" Was the echoed reply from with in the engine. "You like it? Someone just left it lying outside."

"I got sucked into a jet engine?" Syndrome said in shock as he realized he was dead.

"Be glad you at least died from something other than yourself." A rather angry looking hunter in the back of the room growled, "Stupid vines…"

"Hehehe… losers…" The green ghost chuckled at the man's misfortune. "Name's Wraith, my associates are out at the moment, but the idiot wearing your demise is Perfection."

"Hi." Perfection said with an echo.

"Hi." Syndrome said, still in shock.

Wraith picked up on his newest customers shock pretty quickly and decided to try and comfort the poor schmuck. "Listen, I built this place here so guys and gals like you would have at least SOME form of entertainment. So pick a table, get chatty and order some drinks, just don't hit on the angel waitress, ok?"

"Right…" Syndrome managed to get his wobbly legs over to the nearest table, at which sat a decomposing man in a terrible zoot-suit, a tall pale ghost, a fat pale ghost, a hygienically challenged ghost, the hunter that had spoken up earlier and a lion with a large scar on his face.

"Well, well, fresh meat." The tall ghost chuckled. "What's your name new guy?"

"Syndrome." The villain was still trying to absorb everything.

"Well, I'm Stretch, the bulbous lump to my left is Fatso, and to his left is Stinky." Stretch pointed his brothers out. "The guy who looks like he just fell out of a bad _Tarzan_ flick is Clayton…"

"You really are a bastard, you know that don't you Stretch?" Clayton sneered.

"Yup, sure do." Stretch continued, "The big bad "putty tat" is Scar and the poor excuse for terrible fashion is Beetle-Juice."

"Hey! I like my fashions!" Beetle-Juice defended his clothing.

"Yeah, you and the guy who was glad to finally shuffle that fashion off the mortal coil." Stinky snickered.

"Excuse me boys." A feminine, yet world weary voice cut in. "What do want to drink?"

Syndrome turned to look behind him and was graced with a vision of beauty. There stood a blonde haired angel in the tightest waitress outfit he had ever seen and her purple wings were equally as beautiful.

"Hey Angela, meet the new guy; Syndrome." Beetle-Juice said as he tried to cop-a-feel of Angela's rear end, only to have his arm broken off in one smooth movement.

"You get this back when you leave." Angela said as she tossed the arm to Wraith who didn't even look up from his magazine as he caught the arm. "Orders. Now."

"Usual for us." Stretch ordered for the Ghostly Trio.

"I shall take a Gin and Tonic for tonight my dear." Clayton rubbed his head.

"And a bowl of milk for the cat!" Beetle-Juice broke into a fit of laughter at his own joke, only to have his other arm ripped off by a rather displeased Scar.

"I'm guessing he'll get that back when hell freezes over." Fatso chuckled.

Scar spat the arm out as he sat back at his position near the table. "Water for me Angela."

"And the new guy will take?" Angela gave Syndrome a curious look.

"How do we pay for all this?" Syndrome asked in his seemingly perpetual confusion.

"You don't lame-brain; Wraith does this just so he doesn't have to hear us all complain about not having anything but a giant white void." Beetle-Juice spoke up once more. "Batter-Acid for me toots."

"If you have complaints keep them to yourself." Wraith called from the bar.

"Ok then, I'll take a whisky." Syndrome sighed.

"Shot of whisky, no problem." Angela wrote the order down.

"Bottle," Syndrome corrected her, "I need a bottle of whisky."

"Are you sure about that man?" Stinky leaned in towards Syndrome, "I mean the only thing more Irish than Wraith in this joint is his whisky."

Syndrome seemingly thought this over for a few seconds, then nodded. "Make it two bottles; I don't want to remember the last few weeks."

"Geez, what got you?" Angela asked with a tinge of compassion.

"WWWWWWHHHHHEEEEEEEE!" Perfection ran by with the jet engine on his head.

"Nevermind." Angela blinked as she went up to the bar.

"Well there is a good side to being here today." Clayton said in an attempt to cheer up their new friend.

"Oh?" Syndrome's chine was now on the table as he lay prone, waiting for his whisky.

"You don't have to deal with the blubbering pile of un-death that is 'Dracula: Lord of Darkness'." Clayton and Scar both rolled their eyes in an exasperated manner.

"Dracula?" Syndrome was confused once more.

"We'll explain latter, right now it's time to drink and play some poker." Stretch said as he floated over to a table and grabbed a deck of cards. "New guy deals first buddy."

"It's a tradition." Clayton smiled.

"Just don't let the corpse deal." Scar harrumphed, "Last time he cheated every five minutes."

"Welcome to the Bully-Up Tavern kid, your home away from after-life home." Beetle-Juice's hand gave a giant slap on Syndrome's back. "Trust me when I say that."


End file.
